


Tempering

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: (or rather war rig sex), Car Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Max on top, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Sparring, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: Furiosa needs to work off the frustrations of a hot, dusty day. Max is very ready to help.Fill for thesmutty_arts prompt challenge, inspired by the wonderfulyoukaiyume's gorgeousNSFW art.





	Tempering

It’s a hot, dull day. Everything is dusty. Everything is irritating. 

The wasteland has been quiet, but Furiosa can’t feel easy. Gastown is grumbling over the latest trade deal, though the Bullet Farm has grudgingly come to terms. There are hints of unrest from the Buzzards and some of the further communities – nothing too explicit, just another item on her list of things to keep an eye on. She isn’t relaxed, but she doesn’t have enough to occupy her.

She’s been impatient all day, too restless even to lie in and snuggle with Max this morning. The Citadel’s vehicles are in good shape, while the last lot of salvage was processed unusually fast. The crews are running drills on the lift mechanism, or swapping shifts so they can work in the gardens. Her garage jobs are fiddly little things, when what she really wants is to hit something with a mallet.

“Sparring,” Max says, behind her. She startles, embarrassed that she hadn’t heard him coming around the side of the rig. He can move so quietly, but usually doesn’t bother in the garage. Perhaps he’s picking up on her tension. He hums, lets her settle, pretending he hadn’t seen her jump. It’s considerate of him, and that’s annoying, too. “About finished here,” he nods to his own engine. “Could do with…” He lets his voice slide away. She nods, a little tightly.

Even the exercise room is quiet. It’s hot here, too, but she needs to move. More than that, she wants a fight, a chance to pour out the frustration that has been building up over the past few days. She heads to the pull-up bars, working fast and hard, keeping her steel arm on. Max is more leisurely, but he’s not skimping anything.

It’s not long before they’re both sweating. He walks to the mat, waiting for her. She starts as she means to go on, running into a hard tackle. He goes down, and there’s a moment of tough wrestling before he bucks her off, evading the hold she was trying for. Furiosa huffs and jumps up, ready to go again, and again.

As they fight, she’s still feeling that buzz of annoyance; even the exercise isn’t getting to it. Max, she suspects, is going gentle on her. She doesn’t want him to, wants to push and be pushed, as hard as she can go. She gets ready to tackle him again.

This time, it’s messier. She dives and scrambles, getting him down but missing the angle. When she lands on top, she’s straddling his hips instead of pinning his chest. She’s about to go for his hands, so when she presses down with her thighs it’s as much about getting her balance as anything else. 

His cock is hard under her. 

Instead of fighting, he just lies sprawled out for her, hands relaxed above his head. His chest is heaving as he looks up at her, his eyes dark and watchful.

Furiosa pumps her hips, grinding down, wanting to feel him. When did she get so wet? Her nipples are achingly hard, her whole body needy. It wouldn’t be first time they’ve used sparring as foreplay, but she’s surprised by this flood of heat and hunger, nudging but not answering the hum of frustration still ticking under her skin. She shifts her weight on her shins so she can rub harder against him, waiting to hear him growl.

She doesn’t see his next move coming. He’s so fast when he wants to be, twisting like a lizard to get her under him. He turns her as he goes, flipping her onto her belly. When he comes to rest, she’s pinned.

This is the position she can hardly ever get out of. Her longer limbs, her flexibility, even her viciousness aren’t much good once he’s got her down with his full weight on her. 

He isn’t giving her an inch to play with, not the slightest opening. Usually, she’d tap out at this point, or he’d yield. This time, he just holds her, the heft and heat of his torso keeping her in place as she pushes up under him. He’s letting her exhaust herself. 

She keeps trying to throw him off, not because it will work but because she needs the movement, needs the fight. Even with her face in the mat, her nose is full of his scent, musk and leather and sweat. By now, she’s rubbing up against him, a deliberate grind against his crotch. He won’t budge, but she’s rewarded by a groan, muffled and swallowed. He’s still alert enough to pull out of the way when she tries jerking her head backwards.

He’s holding her forearm, keeping it trapped, with his other elbow pinning her shortened arm. When he shifts over her, she wonders if he’s going to let her up. Instead, he leans in and licks her back, a wet, hot stripe from the edge of her shirt right up to her brand. 

The shiver that goes through her is lust and indignation at once. He presses small kisses down her arm, a soft brush of lips and stubble. He’s holding her down just so he can be sweet to her. She wants to laugh. She wants to bite him, to pull his hair. Even though she’s been lying still for the past minute, time enough to get her breath back, she’s panting hard. Max murmurs another kiss onto her arm, follows it with a scrape of teeth. 

He is so careful, so sure. When they fight, he does even that with a kind of tenderness, even when he’s at his most dangerous. She’s lying there with his weight and his mouth on her, her cunt clenching and sweat in her hairline.

So she’s wrong-footed when he climbs off her, all the way off, standing up. She rolls over, confused, and spots a group of garden workers approaching, ready for their own practice. Max reaches down, pulls her to her feet. Their bodies are worked enough, exercised enough, but it hasn’t given her what she wants. She doesn’t need exercise, she needs to fuck him, and she’s annoyed at being interrupted. She has to force herself to nod a welcome to the garden group.

It’s Max who makes sure they both stretch, which is unusual. He’s often too casual about taking care of himself. The heavy, layered flap of his fly helps to hide the state he’s in – one of his rougher repair jobs, but it has its uses. She can see the bulge, the hard shape of his erection, but then she knows what she’s looking for, what she’s trying not to stare at. The harness of her arm is weighing on her, leather and cloth and metal pressing at her skin. She wants to scratch everything off. Breathing steadily, she makes herself concentrate, stretching fully and carefully. Max picks up his jacket when they’re ready to go, carrying it over his arm so that it mostly covers his crotch. Mostly. He’s not really trying.

The way back to her room takes them past the trade rig, parked in a quiet bay. It’s not due out for another three days, so it’s out of the way in the inner garage for now. Furiosa is stepping past it, through the shadowy space between the high wheel and the rock wall, when Max takes hold of her. It’s not a pounce, not a fight: he just puts her up against the side of the rig and starts kissing her. She grinds back against him, her metal arm tight around his waist, moaning when he bites at her lip.

He works one hand between them, cupping her crotch through thick leather. She’s squirming against him, wanting friction as well as pressure. Her flesh hand is already in his hair: she closes her fist, tugging his head back so that she can suck and lick at the curve of his throat, hearing him sigh. He’s already working at her fastenings, opening her pants to slip his hand down. She’s so wet, making hungry little noises as he strokes and teases, sliding a finger into her.

Her sounds turn indignant when he pulls his hand away, stretching up to open the back door of the cab. He turns her, half lifting her to the step, his hands on her waist, on her bum. Though it’s practical, it’s not at all a neutral touch, with a firm grope as he urges her up, hands lingering when she thinks he’s about to let go. Reaching for her waist again, he pulls her leathers and underwear down with a single sharp tug.

She’s perched on the narrow step with her trousers round her knees. This isn’t flashing the whole garage, she’s in the shadow of a dark corner on a very quiet day, but there’s a shocked thrill to it, all the same. Standing behind her, he kisses her buttock, nudges his nose between her bared thighs. It’s such a small touch, his breath warm on her skin. It’s all she can do to keep her balance, standing there as he nuzzles at her. She’s panting, blood thumping in her ears, in her throat. When he gives her another nudge, she comes close to stumbling, tipping headfirst onto the back seat. Max is up after her, almost before her foot leaves the step. Dropping his jacket in the footwell, he scrambles onto her, pulling the door shut behind them.

Though he’s back on top, he’s not pinning her. He lies over her in a way that makes sure she can move, that she’s up for this. It’s not until she rubs herself against him that he lets himself press down on her, the roughness of leather against her skin. He kisses her shoulder again. The solid weight of him gives her something to push against, but he’s going much too slow. 

She works her hand around to his belt, trying to get him open behind her back. She can feel him laughing when he catches her hand, though he at least he uses his other to undo his own leathers. She wriggles impatiently, knows he’s laughing again.

His cock brushes against her, a throb of heat against her buttock. She can feel and smell and almost taste how ready he is, but he’s not even grinding yet. He wraps both arms around her, one still holding her hand, the other reaching between her thighs.

“Come _on_ ,” she groans. Fuck knows where he gets his patience from, how he can bear to wait. She’s already trying to spread her legs on the rig’s wide seat, to get her knees under her so she can push back against him. He works his hand down enough to get two fingertips inside her, lets them just flutter. She bucks at that. 

He shifts his hips, lining himself up, but only slips his cock between her legs. He’s slicking himself up, a slow thrust and drag between her lips. The tease of it is making her gasp, her cunt squeezing on empty air. He kisses her neck, finally slides into her, slow and possessive. 

The noise she makes is part satisfaction, part relief. She arches her back, tilting her pelvis, leaning into it. 

“Greedy,” Max says, low and filthy, right in her ear. He’s propping himself on his right elbow, weight shifted a little to spare his bad knee, rocking gently as he looks for the angle that will keep rubbing her just there while giving him room to move. A pulse goes through her cunt when he finds it.

“That,” she says, fingers tightening around his. “There…” Max growls, and thrusts hard.

He’s suddenly as frantic as she is, fucking into her. It’s blunt and ruthless and so good, a blaze of heat through her body, the slippery drag of sweaty skin and the roughness of his stubble against her neck. They’re both loud, the slap of flesh and grunting breath, animal and eager. She howls when he gets his fingers back to her clit. There’s no teasing this time, perhaps because his left hand has less finesse, or just because he’s pushing her to her redline, as hard and fast as they can get there.

She comes quickly, after all that buildup. She’s moaning with it, feeling him still grinding into her as she shudders. He’s noisy when he follows her, slumping over her, both of them sprawling flat over the seat.

She stirs before he does. Her body is much more at ease now, but not exactly comfortable. He grunts when she prods him, his mouth wet and open on her back, his arm moving closer around her.

After a moment, she prods again. He’s heavy. Now that she’s come, now that she’s got the edge off, she’s aware of the way her bodice is digging into her, of his weight pressing against her. Her cunt is still so wet, holding him inside her, with a slick of come that’s going to start itching soon. She gets her metal hand flat on the seat, giving him a sharp elbow. Max makes a complaining noise but shuffles up, cock slipping out of her with a sticky sound. He props himself on his forearm, loosening his grip on her hand, so that she can turn under him. 

His face is so dopey, sleepy and smiling. As soon as she’s on her back, he snuggles into her, though the edge of her bodice must be hard against his chin. 

“Fool.” She pokes him. “C’mon, gotta get out of here.” Max shows no sign of shifting. She can’t help petting his hair.

When he moves, it’s only to stroke a hand over her hip, mouthing at her nipple through her shirt. She’s a mess: sweat behind her knees and in the creases of her thighs, come dripping down her legs, her leathers rucked down and her bodice riding up.

“Mmm,” Max says, into her breast, then starts to slide down. “Get you cleaned up first.” His mouth is soft against her belly. He sounds wrecked. He sounds greedy. 

By wedging himself against the door, he gets down far enough to put his face between her legs. Taking a firm grip on her, as hard as if they were sparring again, he leans in to lick, lapping the splatter of come from her thigh. 

“Huh? Oh…” She’s fucked out and thought she was done, but she’s shivering at this, her whole body responding. He holds her open and dives in, with a slurping noise that must be audible across half the garage. Furiosa is whimpering with how much too much it is. Her legs are trembling, her knees shaky. She’s almost dizzy when she comes again, spread out on the seat with his hands holding her in place.

“Mmm, you.” His voice is throaty and fond. She doesn’t answer, still panting. Instead, she reaches down, aiming for his cheek but ending up flapping clumsily at his hair. He smiles, turning his head to fit under her fingers. “Better?”

She’s achy and sweaty and still twitching, her body worked hard. Even her sweat feels gritty with dust. She wants to get washed and curl up with him, wants to cuddle. Getting down from the cab is going to be a nightmare, with her knees this wobbly.

“Yeah,” she says. “…Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
